


descend

by econony



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Car Sex, Crying, Funerals, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Mention of Character Death, Mention of Child Abuse, churches and religion, dave "crying while fucking" strider, dont even question this i shat it out in a total of about 45 minutes at 2:30 am idek, like a lot of crying tbh, sorry world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 18:53:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3947887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/econony/pseuds/econony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bro dies. Dave deals. John helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	descend

**Author's Note:**

> ummm... don't take this seriously is all i have to say. i was gonna put this in the pornshot series im doing but then i was like.... nah the tone doesn't fit. so here is an incredibly self-indulgent standalone, because i wanted to see a combination of (1) car sex; (2) intercrural sex; and (3) crying sex. and what better way than johndave. cheers.

Bro dies on a weirdly overcast Tuesday in the middle of August. Dave sits at your kitchen table all day, and you call in sick to work for him, whispering in the other room as you worriedly watch him stay in that one chair. He never moves, he never cries, he never talks. You bring dinner home after you return from work and he doesn’t look at it. He doesn’t look at you. You understand.

The funeral is the following Friday, and he is still lethargic from Tuesday. You fly out from Seattle to Fort Worth. He is silent while you drive in the rental car through backwater Texas, and every so often you glance over at him. He’s leaning his forehead against the window, his mouth a tight line as usual. You consider taking his hand, or stroking his cheek, or something, but decide against it. He needs to be alone right now. You’re not sure if this is grief or shock or both, but you’ll wait for Dave to be ready to talk about it, if ever.

At the little country church, some of Dave’s very distant relatives sit in the pews. Rose and her aging mother sit in the back, and she nods at you as you bring Dave inside. The church looks like a converted barn, especially in the way that dust flecks spin and twist in the streams of light that come in from the tiny, dusty windows. Despite the windows, though, everything is very dark, and you have to lightly feel your way along the word wooden pew in order to get to your seat.

A pastor leads the service, although you’re pretty sure that Dave and his brother weren’t religious at all. The funeral must have been arranged by those distant relatives. Dave stares straight ahead the whole time, and from what you can hear, the pastor describes a man who doesn’t even sound like Bro in the slightest. You can see Dave shaking his head slightly when the pastor says, “we celebrate a good man,” and you smooth your hand over his.

Several people (mostly his distant relatives) make their speeches, but Dave doesn’t go up and make one.

The funeral is open-casket, and so most people go up and see him at the end. Dave shoves his hands into his fitted suit and leaves the church. You follow him out, waving goodbye to Rose.

You find him in the rental car’s back seat, still with that same expression. You get in and the keys and start the engine, pulling out of your parking spot silently to get back on the road. “Are you hungry?” you ask, because you kind of are, but you wouldn’t eat if Dave isn’t going to. He hasn’t really eaten anything all week. Maybe a couple of bites of a sandwich here and there. Cereal.

“No,” is all he says. Just as well. You keep driving.

You make your way through the dirt roads and lush, forest-y area for a while, and all of a sudden, Dave kicks the back of the passenger’s seat. You look back for a moment, mostly shocked, and before you know it, he’s pushing, kicking, ripping at his own hair, and his tight line of a mouth quickly twists into a grimace. He’s crying. He’s cracking. And you’re pulling over.

You cut the engine and climb into the backseat, circling your arms around him. He’s sobbing, hitting you some, still kicking his legs around. “Fuck,” he whimpers, trembling, “fuck.”

“Dave, come on,” you plead quietly, kissing his forehead. “Can you tell me what you’re feeling right now?”

“I just— I don’t know,” he sobs, and his limbs go limp. It almost looks like he’s drowning in his tears. You take his shades off gently, put them down in the cupholder. Thick tears cling to his lashes. You wipe them away carefully. “I don’t even fucking know.”

He leans against you, breathing shallowly, until he presses his lips roughly against yours, ripping your tux jacket off and fumbling to unbutton your shirt. Well. This is unexpected. You help him along by unbuttoning your shirt for him. He pants against your lips– you think he’s still crying, but he also probably needs this right now, so when he grinds his hips to yours, you grind back.

When you’re down to your glasses and boxers, and your nice tux is a pile on the floor of the car, he pulls back to gulp in some air while he frantically undoes his clothes and adds them to the pile where yours lay. He pulls you over him and resumes kissing you, almost violently, and now you know he’s crying still because his cheeks are still wet. He’s only half hard right now, but you grip his cock through his thin boxers and he shivers. It doesn’t take him too long to get fully hard, and you follow quickly.

You haven’t got any lube with you, since you literally flew out to Texas just for this funeral (you didn’t even pack any luggage, just wore your tuxes and left), but Dave just takes your dick and closes his legs around it. When you thrust against his dick, through his thighs, he holds both of your cocks in his hands so they’re flush. This makes it much easier to get not only you, but him, off, because he’s circumcised and the lack of foreskin has presented a difficulty in masturbating him in the past.

He tugs at your hair and buries his face in your shoulder, sobbing. You go slower, not sure if he’s sobbing with pleasure or with grief. You suppose it’s maybe both, because he whispers a, “no, go faster, oh, fuck you, I hate you,” and starts crying all over again. “Don’t you dare make this fucking emotional, Egbert,” he says tearfully into your shoulder. “Don’t you dare.”

You take a hand to smooth his hair out, and he still ruts up against you as he cries into the juncture where your shoulder meets your neck. He’s got you in a vice, koala-like grip with his arms, and he goes on sobbing into your shoulder as you thrust slowly and gently. When he comes, he makes a sad, openmouthed, sorrowful noise, like the noise he made under his breath when he came across a dead crow in the seventh grade while you were exploring a forest with him over summer break. It sounds like his heart breaking while he spills himself between you, and you follow close behind him, grunting softly and kissing his neck.

You make yourself responsible for cleaning you both up, and make sure you’re both dressed properly. You stay in the backseat with Dave for a while, and let him lean his head against your shoulder.

“He was my abuser. And he was also my guardian,” Dave says finally, quiet and exhausted. “I looked up to him. I admired him. But I was also scared of him. Every night when I was a little kid I used to pray to God, if he was up there, to make my brother nice again. Or to just make him go away forever so he couldn’t hurt me anymore.”

You kiss the top of Dave's head and pull him closer. “I have no idea how to feel now that he's actually gone,” he whispers. You can feel him trembling against you, and he sniffles, making a choked noise from deep in his throat.

“Maybe you don't necessarily have to figure out how you feel right now,” you say back, and he nods into your shoulder, letting out a tiny sob.

When you've both gotten dressed again, you kiss him and drive through the lush woods again. You make a pit stop at a TGI Friday's, the first restaurant for miles, and it's as if the floodgates have opened: Dave orders two times his weight in food and still asks to finish yours off. You guess that finally crying and processing it out loud helped a lot.

On the plane ride back, Dave kicks his shoes off under the airplane blanket and keeps his head on your shoulder the whole ride, only sitting up to drink his ginger ale. You rub circles into his thumb with yours. When you get back to Seattle, you'll call a grief counselor for him, order a pizza, and marathon Parks and Rec with him, all in that order. Now, though, as you glance out the tiny plane window to see the lights below you twinkling in the dark, you settle against him and say nothing. You and Dave have always been like that: you don’t have to say anything to know what each other is feeling. You smile against his baby-fine blond hair because you love him and he loves you back.

 

**Author's Note:**

> before you leave a comment berating me over how you believe that bro strider is not an abuser and that i'm overreacting and/or tropey, there is canon confirmation (in an author's note in book 3) by hussie himself that bro is physically abusive. additionally, [several](http://toastyhat.tumblr.com/post/99225600484/tw-abuse-abuse-apologism-things-that-bro-would) [sources](http://iamturntechgodhead.tumblr.com/post/107290576326/i-saw-a-post-about-how-bro-is-abusive-i-was) [on tumblr](http://uraniumumbra.tumblr.com/post/104581236746/hussie-has-directly-stated-in-homestuck-book-three) sum up the total of bro's canonical abusive behaviours towards dave, which are very well written and you should maybe read them (tw for mention of abuse, obviously). and then please get out of my face if you think that there is brother/brother dynamics between them and that that somehow excuses how bro treats dave. this is not a joke. when a person has to assume responsibility of a younger sibling, it's very emotionally difficult and highly stressful, i know that. but when an older sibling takes on the role of a guardian, it is absolutely unacceptable for the older person to be mistreating the younger one. i have experience in this situation. i don't care if "brothers treat each other that way". a guardian does not treat a child that way. end of story. thanks.


End file.
